Weakness and Death
by daisiesinthepages
Summary: Nick Fury is never unprepared. On the day Loki made the gruelling travel to the Tesseract room, there had been backup. SHIELD calls them the SIMD, and they clean up the messes humans cannot. Though Loki is eventually subdued, his mission is already completed, for the real threat lies within SHIELD's very walls, and galaxies away. Even the Avengers can't stop Death itself. Loki/OFC
1. Chapter 1

Well, hi there! First off, I gotta warn some of you.

This is NOT your usual Avengers novelisation with an extra character. This is an ALTERNATE PLOT, designed to totally deviate from the original. A total 'what if, instead of Loki, it was a different villain', but with all the same characters and more. This chapter will be the most like the movie, to establish the setting, but after this all hell will break loose, so to speak. It's designed to be vague. Everything is there for a purpose and will be revealed through the plot. Once more, this is NOT a novelisation, anything that is different from the movie is done on purpose, including dialogue. Enjoy!

I have already watched all the latest Avengers-centric movies, except GOTG, so some elements from those shall be incorporated (maybe even the Winter Soldier if I'm nice to myself)

DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with Marvel or any of its franchises, and do not own any of their content within this story. All I claim ownership to is the differences in plot and original characters.

WARNINGS: Rated T for Moderate Violence, Low Level Coarse Language, and Adult Themes.

_SUMMARY: _Director Nick Fury is never unprepared. After the gruelling travel Loki makes to Midgard in the Tesseract room, there was backup. SHIELD calls them the SIMD, and they take care of the messes the humans can't clean up. In his weakened state, Loki is eventually subdued, and placed under SIM guard. This is of little consequence, for his mission was already completed. The real threat lurks within SHIELD's very walls, and their weapon from galaxies away. The Avengers alone may not be enough to stop Death Herself. Eventual tasteful Loki/OFC

_He could always feel Her presence, through the Cosmic Cube, like a lone star in the darkest night. Death had always been a fragile thing, a tightrope dance of feeble stretch and world-shattering power. But He, He was the strong, far reaching arm to wield Her. There was nothing that was beyond His accomplishing._

_He was Thanos, Death's envoy, and He was fast approaching_.

Nick Fury was not one to stop and count his blessings. He liked to consider himself the world's most pessimistic realist. No hero was infallible, no man trustworthy. It was why he had survived this long. To him, each damn victory was just further proof that the next threat would be more challenging.

The military chopper he sat in thudded out its base line as it cut through the air towards Duty Call. The man believed in nothing if not preparing for the worst. Phase Two was the direct result of this, a project spanning decades, reaping rewards so rich that Fury was convinced that soon things would have to go to hell, just to cool off. His direction of the Strategic Homeland Intelligence, Enforcement and Logistics Division had been going too well for his tastes. It meant that it had to be reaching its catastrophic end soon. If Selvig was correct in his rantings, very soon. God help them all. The large man clenched his fists, the black leather of his gloves squeaking and causing more irritation in the man, at which he opened his hands once more. The rather expendable Agent that sat across from the Director, of South American descent and dwarfed by Fury's imposing stature hid his anxiety well in the presence of his boss, but not well enough. Fury knew exactly how much had been in the younger Agent's briefing, and it hadn't been even ten percent of what was truly going down. In a way he envied the ignorance. They didn't say a word to each other the entire trip, and the only noise that broke the silence were the occasional squeak of Fury's leather, or the click of the Agent fiddling with the high power firearm in his possession above the rhythmic beat of the chopper's blades.

Before they even touched base the Director was out of the chopper and striding into the main facility, where his second in command, Agent Mariah Hill, fell into step beside him, filling in the most recent details as they went.

"Hill, I want all of it, every piece of Phase Two out and on transportation," the Director said, his voice as rough and leathery as the trenchcoat he wore, while his permanent scowl only deepened.

Ever stubborn Agent Hill argued his order as he had come to expect with all frustration. "Sir, we are going to need every second just to evacuate personel. If the Tesseract collapses we're going to need to be as far-"

"If the Cube kicks it," Fury interjected harshly, "there will _be _no minimum safe zone. But until such time as the world ends, we will continue to act as though it plans to spin on. Get the tech on those trucks, Hill."

"I can get it done in ten minutes."

"You have five."

With a stiff nod, the woman turned and barked his orders to every lower ranking agent that she came into contact with. The entire base was in a frenzy. Seven hundred personel, all running to get their individual responsibilities cared for in zero minutes, none entirely aware of the extent of the emergency except a special few. Speaking of which. Fury made his was down in the elevator, to the lowest basement level, brought his good eye to the scanner, and entered through the armoured door. This room was in no better shape than the Common levels, scientists in white lab coats shouted data to others, and rushed to adjust various instruments. Just when Fury was about to truly give up hope, Doctor Erik Selvig came up to meet him, looking more haggard than when Fury saw him last. Weren't there rosters in place to ensure these men and women ate and slept to the military requirement? However, there were more important things at stake than workplace health and safety at that moment. "Talk to me, Selvig. What're we up against?"

The older man ran a hand through his thinning hair, a crazed sort of delight battling with the stress in his blue eyes, "The Tesseract, it's having a temper tantrum, so to speak. It's releasing these random spurts of energy; nothing dangerous at this point, just a bit of Gamma radiation."

Director Fury raised his eyebrows sceptically, "That can be dangerous."

Selvig either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. "Our instruments are getting overloaded, and unless it settles down on its own, the whole thing will collapse on itself, heaven help us. Something with this much power," he didn't finish his sentence, they both knew it didn't need to be said.

"How much time to we have?" Fury asked instead, clenching his fists again,

The scientist glanced at a computer screen, "About three minutes and forty-seven seconds by my calculations."

Fury spat out a curse. "And Four?" he demanded. The world was not about to end on his watch, so help him.

Agent Clint Barton startled the only one of the pair that could be startled, Selvig, by dropping to the floor beside them, and retracting the grappling hook he must have used to do so. Fury turned his attention to the Hawk with his usual scowl, prompting the specialist to speak. "She's being less than helpful, sir. Won't tell us anything except that 'It will be okay' crap. She's connected to the Cube as we speak, and refuses to move," he informed them.

"Well, somebody better stop licking their ass and come to me with something conclusive or the Cube will be the least of your worries," Fury said bitterly, looking to the Tesseract itself despite the light of it paining his eye. The glowing blue cube, each face roughly the size of his hand, was a sight to behold, periodically releasing waves of visible energy. If it wasn't so worrying it might even be considered beautiful. Now that the bursts of raw power were becoming stronger the lights in the room were failing, as were many of the computerised instruments, causing the entire room to reflect the same dooming blue. Unsurprisingly, none could give him the conclusive information he needed so desperately. Nick Fury was not a desperate man, but this once, he swore he would make an exception if it would improve the situation he now faced.

"Sir," Agent Barton began, "what do you suggest we do?"

Director Fury took a deep breath through his nose, all too aware of the countdown they faced. "I want the SIMs down here, _ yesterday_."

"Roger that," Barton affirmed, putting the order through his comms unit immediately. Desperate times would always call for desperate measures.

"And God speed," Fury breathed, watching the Tesseract and the lightshow it displayed. None in the room moved to evacuate like the other agents in the facility. This was their ship, and if it did go down, they were going down with it.

Not more than a hundred feet away, in a sterile room that was no larger than eight cubic metres, a Chinese woman sat reclined in a chair, and might have resembled a dentist's patient if it weren't for the addition of three brightly lit computer chips imbedded into the palid flesh of her forehead. Her eyes shot open, staring blankly at the white ceiling, the frightening turquoise glaze of her irises fading to their former black depths, and at that, three words left her mouth: "Ta zai zherli", which here means, 'He is here'.

With those dealing with the Tesseract, one blonde scientist was ordered to announce the countdown so that others could focus on trying to keep the Cube stabilised as best they could with failing and surging electricity, and her voice rang out with growing anxiety, "Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight..." And during this the doors slid open with the hiss of released gas.

Fury and Agent Barton looked up as their new guests streamed in with purpose in their step. A lanky man stepped up to Fury and saluted. "The S.I.M.D. reporting, sir," he said in a clear Brooklyn accent, the chip inserted on his forehead glowing blue. The ground rumbled below their feet, causing a shelf to topple over to their right.

"Cut the crap, Agent, get that Cube subdued _now_ or we're all dead." The Brooklyn man didn't even bother to nod or salute a second time. He whirled on his team and gave them their orders, as if they had been rehearsing this all along.

"Barker, Sedgewick, get the roof supported; Beardmore I want all these civilians out; we're taking over this operation. Null, turn the power off-"

A deep, gravelly voice interrupted the command, "Tristan, you do that, and _we _die. Null, don't do it!" The Brooklynite, Tristan Cain, silenced the insubordinate agent with an angered flick of his wrist- a conjuring of flame in the action's wake, singing the dark skin of the woman who had spoken. Without a sound or cry of pain she pressed her hand to her cheek, resentment in her amber eyes and a flicker in the light of her identical blue chip. Remorse crossed Agent Cain's features for a moment before he returned to saving the lives of every person still in the base, and the billions worth of tech and research.

"Null, stand down! O'Reilly, get a force field around the Tesseract now!" Cain let his eyes meet the African woman's once more, and she gave a small nod. Of his team, six people remained without orders, including the Agent he had shamefully lashed out at, Abla. They all stood at attention, a hair trigger waiting for a situation where their gifts were needed. "How much time left?"

"Twenty-one seconds, sir! Twenty, nineteen..."

"SIMs without orders, get out! O'Reilly, get out there protecting those agents. Abbey, stay with me." The Irishman withdrew the ineffective field he had been trying to cast against the surges and ran to follow the five retreating men and women, knowing better than to question Agent Cain. Agent Abla glanced warily in her commander's direction, but kept her own mouth shut too. She knew he didn't keep her there for her abilities.

Fury disliked leaving such a delicate situation in the hands of these notoriously volatile individuals, but knew that some things were beyond the control he could impose. "Everybody get braced!" he yelled above the cacophony. And brace they did, each agent tensed, those already using their abilities grit their teeth, those waiting poised to strike. Agent Barton and Erik Selvig were the only ones of the original employ that remained stoicly at his side while the others evacuated, though he suspected the latter was majorly driven by the desire to observe the Tesseract in its unstable state, and the former had already made his way up to his usual perch high above their heads, right hand hovering over his loaded quiver, in the off chance an arrow could save them against an explosion of cosmic energy.

"...Three, two, on-"

All at once a massive outward pulse of raw cosmic power radiated from the cube, so potent that all stumbled back, shielding their faces as heat wafted out and singed eyebrows. Everyone tried to steady themselves against the shove, many failing, as the earth shook. The telekinetics, ordered to support the structure against crumbling down on them all cried out in effort, but gradually the earthquake subsided, and everyone was free to survey the aftermath. A quiet fell on the room, except from the steady thrum of the Tesseract, and the heavy breathing of the newcomer in the room. The Directer, physicist, and agents alike gazed in wonder and apprehension at the crouched figure, that should not have been able to be there. As Abla looked, she found that she wished the room had been lighter, that the view be clearer. Of all possibilities, none had expected this.

Fury broke the silence. "Sir, put down the spear," he said, sounding more calm and collected than any of them felt at that moment.

The man, for it was a man, looked up at the booming sound of Fury's voice, and then down at the weapon in his hand, as if he were surprised that either were there. Every SHIELD in the room had the same thought repeating in their head, _friend or foe?_ The answer came as a shot to the closest agent's sternum. "Beardmore!" Tristan roared as the Agent was blasted backwards with the concentrated energy the man's staff ejected. The self-duplicating man, who had been using his ability for crowd control evacuating the scientists, hit the ground, and one by one his clones blinked out of existence and the square chip between his thick brows ceased its glow. Abla felt her stomach sink as it registered her friend was dead. For one impossibly short moment all was still, but then the moment ended and all was chaos once more as every able bodied person rushed to avenge and defend. Now they knew what they should expect, the SHIELD agents worked in an unpredictable choreography of a well trained team, the telekinetics flinging objects or restricting his movements where they could. Tristan panted through his clenched teeth, spittle leaving his mouth and then evaporating as the air around his body combusted and he barrelled towards the man, taking steal-melting strikes where could. It should have been easier than it was proving to be. The man, dressed in nearly impenetrable armour, had strength and agility beyond any normal human, and fought in a graceful style unfamiliar to them.

The intruder leapt through the air and plunged the blade of the spear into the chest of the more powerful telekinetic, ducked under an incoming computer hurled by another, and twisted around in the same movement to avoid a stream of fire, firing energy in return. Tristan took the shot to his left shoulder and felt the electrifying agony spread through his veins and react with the chip attached to his brain, almost overloading the circuit and making it feel as though his head was about to split in two. When he began to return to the present, the commander found that he was lying on the cold floor, looking in the direction of Director Fury guarding the Tesseract with his life, firing bullets into the fray. Beginning to push himself back up he yelled at the Agent still standing where he had left him, "Null, quickly! Stop him!" As the robotised agent began to act, something else drew the Pyrokinetic's attention.

A roar of anger and despair tore through Abla's throat, the shock of Agent Beardmore's death finally transitioning to reaction. Tristan snapped his focus towards the woman, and snuffed the flames enveloping his arms, crying out a warning yell to his team, at which they all ceased their offence and dived to the side. The sickly looking man holding the staff paused his attack and looked confused for a moment, wondering what the diversion was, when a voice he had hoped to never hear again thundered in his ears, promising unimaginable suffering. He looked up in horror, the spear clattering to the ground as dropped to the ground in a bow. Prayers for mercy left his chapped lips as the agents caught their breath, looking on with bitterness and interest.

Abla stood in the middle of the split sea of her surviving team, facing the intruder with arms stretched towards him. If one was close enough to see it, they would notice her golden amber irises quivering in a frightening fashion from the intensity of her power. Between the woman and her victim, nothing but the hallucinations of his manipulated mind.

This is why they would always fear them, the Illusionists.

Still, Tristan knew that soon her energy would wane, and the intruder would not be rendered this pathetic display forever. "Now, Null, now!" he ordered and at once the agent lifted his right hand and a faint blue aura surrounded the strange man's prostrate form. Feeling his power leave him, the intruder shuddered and lifted his head, glazed eyes roaming about as the image he had seen dispersed akin to smoke, not real as he had feared. Two strong grips came to either side of him and held him fast, and his struggles were pointless with whatever was blocking his power. All of a sudden it became clear that the trickster, the master of illusion, had been fooled with his own craft. He cursed his weakened state, and blamed it for his defeat. His eyes flicked towards the staff he had lost, and hoped that his task had been accomplished well enough for the time being. He would wait, regather his strength, and would escape, prove to them just who they were dealing with. He was not one to be underestimated by a gathering of _mortals_. A smirk took residence in the corner of his mouth, even as sweat dripped down his clammy skin.

Nick Fury approached the enemy with his scowl etched deeper than ever before. The other SIMs had reentered the room not seconds ago, however they had almost been too late. Though two of his SIMs held him upright, a man and woman each possessing superhuman strength, he remained on his knees, a smug look on his face. Fury decided that he had to be completely off his rocker to have the balls to be smug after such a humiliating defeat. "Now, I'm gonna ask this real slowly," the Director started condescendingly, "who the hell do you think you are to attack my men?"

The intruder chuckled lowly, more like a weak huffing of air, and lifted his chin, posture only possible for someone of sufficient arrogance. "I am Loki, of Asgard, and I come burdened with _glorious _purpose." Loki took a breath to continue his spiel when Selvig cut in with a voice filled with awe.

"Loki? Brother of Thor?"

The detained man visibly rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. Fury wasn't having any of it. "_Glorious purpose_ my ass. You come in here God only knows how, kill my agents; I don't care where you're from, here we don't call that _glory_, we call that _war_. So I'm gonna give you some time to think about your position, and how easy it would be for me to tell this guys to snap you in half, and when I come back you better have some damn good answers for me. Lock him in Hell." With that, the Director of SHIELD pivoted on his heel and skulked off to do damage control and, no doubt, the masses of paperwork evacuating the entire ground base would require.

Loki's piercing gaze scanned the small crowd, searching out the one who had tricked his eyes and caused him this inconvenience. When his sight locked with Abla's, his smirk grew. The tall, dark woman kept a cold expression of hatred on her sharply defined features, examining her teammates' murderer's pale face. He seemed so weak. She knew that during the brief fight, he had proven himself not _weak_ by definition, but the dark circles that surrounded his eyes and drew crow's feet and the clamminess clear even from afar made her apprehensive. This stranger, Loki, was not _weak_, but he was obviously _weakened_ and she worried that if they were not careful, he may easily destroy every single one of them once he reached full strength. Her illusions never worked as well the second time round.

Still, she showed no signs of concern as he was escorted towards the elevator by her team. If she didn't know any better, though, she would say that he saw through her regardless.

The path was familiar to the SIMD of SHIELD, the one towards the holding cells. These were stationed several hundred feet underground, equipped with absolutely the most resilient security measures yet known to man. The floor, walls, and ceiling were painted a sterile white, contrasting sharply with the agents' black overalls, and the cells were visible through foot thick plexi-glass material, reinforced with silver capillaries of Tessaract energy, strengthening the glass walls, and making them condusive to most forms of energy, transferring the power safely away rather than be damaged by such attacks. This was where they kept the troublemakers. This is what Fury called Hell. Tristan Cain lead the way, stopping at a cabinet to retrieve a set of standard restricting cuffs, using much the same technology as the cell doors. After they were safely fastened onto the prisoner's wrists, with surprisingly little resistance, he was roughly shoved into the empty cell, failing to catch himself with his bound wrists. Tristan watched with arrogance and distaste. "Welcome to Hell, mister Loki. Just try to get out, it'll be fun for us to watch. Actually, so far you've been a blast, for a pathetic murdering piece of crap, so guess what, buddy?" Loki drew up his eyes to meet Cain's, resentment clear from both sides. "I enjoyed watching you snivel on the floor so much, that I'm going to leave Abla here to watch you, and _remind_ you of that humiliation again, and again, and _again_." Tristan turned his attention to the shocked face of Abla. "Have fun with this one, Abbey, I doubt Director Fury would blame you for _anything_ that might happen. Team, let's move out."

As the SIMs left the prison wing, and hence the blue glow of Null's power dampening disappeared and left Loki in the protection of the cell, Abla was left hurt and annoyed with her sudden assignment. She knew that one of them would have to guard him, but couldn't it have been someone else? She also understood fully well what her commander had been implying; they expected her to torture him until Fury was ready for the real questioning. As she snuck a glance at his silent form through the glass, she knew that as much as she loathed him for what he had done, and what he had surely intended to do also, she could no more physically torture another being as much as she could lick her own elbow. And she couldn't do that, she had already tried on numerous occasions. Abla watched him watch her for many minutes, as she clenched and reclenched her fists. _A murderer._ Why? What did this man possibly have to gain by killing Michael? And then kill Barker, and Coyle had been carried towards the medical wing. All this, and he showed no signs of remorse, even over being captured and detained. "Why?" she suddenly demanded to know verbally, now making no effort to hide the anger she felt towards him.

He merely raised a brow, "Excuse me?"

She wasn't sure if he was mocking her thick accent or her question. "Why did you kill my friends? We had not threatened you," she tried again, slower this time.

"An ant does not threaten the boot that crushes it," he replied evenly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Enraged at this flippant answer, Abla struck out, banging her fist on the glass, as if it would do anything, as large, black spiders crawled from the floor and up her legs and his kneeling form, and a king cobra reared in front of the prisoner, displaying the fangs that dripped with venom. "I'm afraid you would have to do better than that, my dear." All at once the apparitions vanished all but one, leaving the seething Ghanese woman, the snake, and he alone once more. That was the largest issue with her powers of illusion, once a person was aware of her, it was hard to frighten them with things they knew were not real. He jittered his fingers slightly, conjuring the image of another mighty snake, gold in its colour with two frightening curved horns sprouting from its skull, which proceeded to gobble her king cobra up with ease, and then vanish as the spiders had. Abla, for her part, felt a sense of calm seep through her outrage at this display of power, for she knew that they were constantly being watched, and that any show of power he made now would give them the advantage against him in the future. And this, she knew, was the best way she could avenge her teammates. To destroy and humiliate him.

"You are an Illusionist, also," she said to him matter-of-factly.

"No," he responded, "I am a god."


	2. Chapter 2

Here we go, chapter two, wasn't expecting to have this up before the week was out! Sorry about the numerous errors and general quality of the first chapter, and as much as I wish to go back and polish it, I want to save major editing for after the first draft is completed. Otherwise I'd spend months on chapter one and never get anywhere. Let's just hope this one is better! I'm expecting to write some Blackwidow and Loki-centric third person POVs in chapter three, but no promises.

remember to leave anything you have to say in a review, good or bad!

oooooooo

Abla smiled wryly at the pale man behind the glass. "I have been with SHIELD for almost a decade, and yet you assume I do not know of your brother, or the fact that this is not the first time you have sought to harm us? You have no anonymity here, and you are no god, Loki Odinson."

He sprang to his feet with the speed and grace of a panther, "Then you should know that Odin is no father of mine," he snarled. Abla had gone through the rigorous training required for shield field agents, and was not easily startled. This was no exception, but she did not enjoy the thought that his psyche was a minefield of strange family complexes. The prisoner seemed clinically insane, and that would only complicate her employer's interrogation. She hoped that it was nothing more than some shallow daddy issues, that were so common in the lowlives they got stuck dealing with.

"And you should know that I could not care less about whatever parentage you may or may not have," she said, and brought her hand up to test the skin of her cheek, displaying her self-proclaimed apathy. "I only care for the friends I lost because of you. However, it is not my place to seek vengeance; your consequence shall come." As she had expected, the superficial burn had already faded as if it never happened, as all did. The power of the Tesseract protected all of the SIMs. She had not so much as aged a day in the years since she had the transmuter retrofitted. This, among everything else, bothered her, but served to distract her from her mercurial temper, and hence from doing anything particularly foolish.

"Ah, yes, the fellow in black. So very intimidating," he purred, all evidence of his outburst smoothed back into composure.

The woman raised her brows and replied condescendingly, "I think you'll find that a large portion of us tend to be found in black."

"And none so much as you."

Her eyebrows shot up further until they arched toward her hairline, and she looked at him in disbelief. "Honestly. You are honestly going to try a racist comment on colour to get at me? That is all you can come up with? You are a pitiable little man, _Odinson_." She turned away from the grinning Asgardian and pressed her finger to her earpiece, turning on the speech receptor that was housed in one of her fillings. "Special Sergeant Major Cain, Agent Abla requesting temporary relief of station."

His answering voice buzzed in her ear, "Granted. Someone will be down to relieve you in five."

"Recieved." There was no need for thanks or further communication, so she turned back to the cell, and instead of giving him the time to make the comment he had opened his mouth to make, she had strode to the control panel and pressed 'mute'. It was not her job to communicate with the prisoners. He obviously had nothing of worth to say to her. So she would watch him as his mouth moved but no sound breached the wall with vague amusement. It only took a few moments for him to realise that she could no longer hear him though, cutting short the fun. They stayed in cold silence and bitter examination of each other for five minutes, until a guard came to take over for her. Surprisingly, it was not one of her teammates, but another agent that she had no recollection of. He saluted her as a superior, and she nodded 'at ease' in his direction with mixed feelings of exasperation and appreciation. "Command says that you have twenty minutes relief, and then are to report to Director Fury, ma'am."

"Received. The criminal's cell is set to sound cancelling, but its mode is at your discretion. Have fun with this asshole, agent." The guard blinked at her brash and casual words, but wisely made no remark as she walked down the white hallway and away from them both.

Her watch blinked the time in digital, and she took mental note so that she may not overstay her impromptu break. Tristan must have understood her need for one in one way or another, for he was never easy on her, despite their... complications, in the past. Whether he thought she had exhausted herself physically, or perhaps emotionally, during the fray; or that the prisoner had somehow threatened her; or even that she could not complete her work and grieve at the same time, his reasons for the allowance mattered not to her. He could believe what he wanted. In truth, nothing short of all those things at once could make her feel unfit for assignment for any amount of time. She was not weak, nor was she infallible. She was just human. Somewhat.

The walk to the nearest break room was brief, and she wasted no further time setting a paper cup beneath the coffee machine and pressing the button. As the machine hummed and poured espresso into the cup, Abla growled and hit the marble benchtop. _That murderous bastard! Who does he think he is?_ _He_ was the one currently stripped of his rights- _did aliens have rights to begin with?- _and locked in a near-inescapable cell, and yet he thought he could mock her? She took a deep breath through her nose, and took the cup away, trying to immerse herself in adding sugar and milk, trying to regain her calm. Years of training, and yet her personality flaws still remained, a touch more controlled, but nothing more than an untamed lion behind a feeble wire fence. She gave a rather sad smirk at herself for this fact. There was only one way SHIELD could possible tame her, yet she prayed it would never come to that. Others had not been so lucky.

And others yet were simply no longer with them. The woman let out a heavy sigh and ran her fingers over her tight braids, wondering how O'Reilly was faring the murder of their close friend. Not well, probably. It solidified the basis for SHIELD discouraging close relations between agents. Nothing was stable enough in their profession. And this, this hurt like losing her brother all over again.

She took an overly large gulp of coffee to distract herself with her burnt tongue.

oooooooo

Nick Fury was pacing his office while Agents Barton, Hill, Cain, and Romanoff stood to various levels of attention. This here meant Barton perched on the cabinet beside the door, not saying much, Romanoff reclining on the sofa, relaxed on the outside, but a coiled spring on the inside, Cain pacing similarly to the Director, himself, and Mariah Hill looking thoroughly frustrated with them all as she stood stoicly, hands at her side, through the whole ordeal. Fury knew his two-i-c had ample reason for her tension, having born the brunt of both the evacuation and the de-evacuation mere minutes after. It had been messy business. While most personel had returned to the underground base immediately, nearly all of the Phase Two tech remained on its transportation to the Helicarrier, as this whole debacle showed them just how much risk was employed by keeping them there. True, it would slow research, but that was a small price to pay if future disaster was avoided. Another hiccup was the _last _thing they needed at that point. They were lucky the entire base hadn't collapsed.

"So let me get this straight, this Loki used the Tesseract, from God only knows where in the universe, to _teleport_ into one of the most secure areas on the planet?" Hill bit out, concerned, confused, and severely pissed off.

Fury may have understood, but he still didn't appreciate the attitude. "It would seem so, yes."

"I thought that Foster and Selvig's research said Asgardians use the Einstein-Rosen Bride for travel between worlds," Natasha Romanoff spoke up, "so why didn't he?"

Cain, who had ceased his pacing and was now rubbing the faint stubble on his chin, chose to respond, "Maybe he just couldn't, maybe he wasn't allowed to, what really matters is why he came here at all. Something tells me he doesn't come in peace." His words were light, but his face was drawn with exhaustion and grief. It had been years since they had lost a member of their team, yet that day he had lost two, maybe to become three, in a fight with one extraterrestrial man. He had sent half the squad away, left them with half the fighting strength. Would things have gone better had he handled the situation better? Of course, no one could have known that the Cube, rather than exploding radioactive energy and collapsing in on itself as they had expected, would open the gate for a superhuman killer to prance through. He rolled his shoulder gently, wincing at the pain. It would heal before long, but there was no doubt that the sceptre had packed a punch, a punch he was eager to return to sender.

"He said he had a 'glorious purpose'. What kind of purpose would a homocidal alien maniac have?" Barton asked from across the room, mentally cross referencing the guy with other threats he had faced in the past. "World domination?"

Fury heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Well, whatever it is he wants, I think we can safely assume that it has something to do with the Cube. And just because he's locked up now, doesn't mean we can get cocky. I want 'round the clock surveillance. He so much as sneezes and I want agents kicking his ass." The large man turned to Agent Hill, "Make sure Selvig gets on the job of contacting Thor, ASAP. I don't wanna be babysitting this brat any longer than I have to."

The Director's comm unit buzzed. "Director Fury, Agent Abla reporting."

"Get in here, Agent." Moments later, enough time for a retina scan, the door slid open and she strode in, saluting him sharply and acknowledging the others respectfully. "Everyone, this is Agent Abla of the Special Intelligence Mutant Division, Cain's protege. First of all, Abla, your part in subduing the intruder has not gone unnoticed, and as much as I wish you hadda stepped in sooner, I'm glad that you were in there. Things could've gotten a hell of a lot messier."

Abla nodded, all too aware of the reprimand in the commendation. It didn't do well for an agent to freeze up at the loss of a teammate. Still, he wasn't suspending any of her privileges yet, so she was grateful. "I understand, sir, thank you."

"You can probably guess I didn't call your ass down to wonderland for a tea party. Agent Cain has informed me that he left our little guest Loki in your care."

When the pause became elongated she realised that he was waiting for her to respond. "Oh, yes sir. In the time after his containment until twenty minutes ago I was supervising his containment," she said, confirming the information.

"And how did that go for you?" Surely the director was aware that she had requested a break, and was evaluating her state of performance.

"Well enough, in my opinion, sir. I know you will review the surveillance footage later, but I can tell you that already I have seen that our prisoner has more talents than we know, including power over illusion. It is more than likely that he was quick to display this power to me in order to reassert his superiority, knowing that I also displayed this skill." It was a wordy rant, more fit for a written report, but she did not wish to be seen as incompetent, and so sought to redeem herself through information. It was a reflex action amongst spies.

Fury sat in his chair and leant forward, peering at her with his uncovered eye. "That is good to know, Agent. I would like to know, though, why you requested leave so soon into the assignment." There it was. At least he was no longer beating around the bush.

She was ready to reply when her commanding officer did so in her stead. "Director Fury, if I may, it is standard for agents in our division to require a minimal rest period after exherting our power. I was aware Agent Abla would likely need this time when I gave the assignment, and did so regardless with the knowledge that she was able to fulfil the required attention," Tristan Cain informed his employer, his eyes flicking in her direction. He was glad the burn had faded so quickly, it was shameful that he still had such little hold over his temper, but he knew Abla well enough to know she didn't have it in herself to hold it against him. "I would nominate her for the permanent watch first and foremost from my team."

Abla wasn't sure the idea _appealed_ to her, but she knew that it didn't matter. She would take any assignment they did or did not give her with all the grace she possessed. So she merely stood there, back ramrod straight and aware that all nine eyes in the room were fixed on her, waiting for Fury's verdict. It seemed to take millennia.

"Well," their gruff director began, shifting aside some files on his desk, "I'll have to take your word on it, Cain. I want you, Abla, to join agents Barton and Romanoff in the rounds of surveillance over the criminal, Loki's cell. While interrogation and information gathering is not _required_, it will always be appreciated. You guys better know how we do things well enough by now. I'll have the assignment files delivered to you by oh-six-hundred hours. Agent Barton, you take over the rest of this evening's watch, but the official timetable will be in your packet." Every party nodded their consent and understanding. "Good, now get the _hell_ outta my office."

oooooooo

By the time Abla reached her quarters she was almost too exhausted to reach her bed. Her last mission had only been concluded three days prior, and she was used to a solid week between assignments, or at least battles with super beings. And though her very bones were weary, her core ached with feelings of guilt and sadness, keeping her from sleep. Instead, she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to overtake her.

Michael Beardmore had been a dear friend and support to her through all of her years at SHIELD, far longer, even, than she had known Tristan or had the relative respect of Nick Fury. He had proven to her, and many of the humans there too, just how great a mutant could be; loyal, diligent, trustworthy as a spy ever was. Cut down because of someone else's selfishness. She cried for Michael, for Barker and Sedgewick, and while she was at it, she cried for her sick mother in Ghana and her brother so unreachably further away than that. Ten years was such a long time.

After her tears were spent, she rolled out of the non-extravagant SHIELD standard issue bed, and stumbled her way to the ensuite, washing her face and examining it with sadness in the mirror. Her body was there, in America, but her heart remained continents away. But this was her life, and she would be content, and grateful that it was not full of the horrors that it may been. With this in mind, and calmness returned to her soul, she took the clip that had been holding her jaw-length braids back in a bun out, brushed her teeth, and returned to bed with the knowledge that sleep was the only way she would survive the next day, and so she slept.

oooooooo

Agent Clint Barton loathed no mission as much as this... close-up-prisoner-watching-and-intimidating gig. He would do it, he hadn't _not_ completed an assignment since the day he didn't kill Natasha. It wasn't that he _couldn't _do it, it was that it was boring as hell and he preferred the kind of job that had him sticking an arrow through a terrorist's eye from the top of a building three blocks away. And this guy, this supposed alien prince throwing a piss tantrum about god only knows what now, well, Clint already _disliked_ the guy.

In the Tesseract room, when he had been up in the catwalks, he had almost expected something like this looney to turn up. Wasn't the Cube supposed to be some sort of gate for cosmic energy? Like a door? Doors can be opened from both sides, right? He looked over the glass door of Loki's prison cell and smirked, _well, most doors, anyway_. He had been thinking to himself, _when a face-sucking alien jumps through that thing I'm gonna skewer the gremlin before it can say 'take me to your leader'._ Of course, Asgardians hardly resembled any of the Hollywood alien props he had been expecting, except for maybe Klaatu, but that hadn't stopped the agent fondly known as Hawkeye from loosing an arrow rain of hellfire on his ass. Without any success at all. All he could say was he didn't know what not-on-earth the crap they made armour out of on Asgard was, but if he was gonna babysit this nutjob he damn well wanted some as compensation.

At this point, after watching Loki prowl around the empty room for an hour, Clint almost wished he would try to escape or something just to break the monotony that was already setting in. How long was it gonna take them to get into contact with Thor and get his baby brother off their hands? Would he have to do shifts of this for weeks? Months? Just kill him now. He was gonna need a buttload of coffee to get through this.

Clint had checked several times to see whether the cell was still on 'mute', but it wasn't, the guy was just seriously quiet. And enjoyed pacing. Damn, Clint was just so sick of people _pacing_ everywhere. He let out a frustrated grunt and whacked the button on the control panel that caused a narrow, premade bed to come out of the cell's wall. "If your going to do goddamn nothing, just sleep for god's sake," he said grumpily, pointing at the bed but staring the piss-baby down. Loki paused in his methodical rounds of the room that was his feeble container, smirked at his replacement guard, the one with an affinity to the longbow, and began his stride once more, earning another loud groan from the man outside.


End file.
